


Midnight

by marginalia



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-12
Updated: 2007-01-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:44:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginalia/pseuds/marginalia
Summary: House says nothing, and so it cannot be happening, because there is nothing on this earth that can keep House silent





	

It's midnight and wife number three turns over, muttering something he can't understand.

He startles awake, alone, surrounded by dark and silence.

He must be dreaming.

It's midnight, and his feet hit the cool floor, and he's in the living room. He's standing behind a chair, bracing himself against its back, elbows locked. He shakes the sleeping from his head, from his eyes, and still he sees House there, at the piano Wilson doesn't have. He's playing something House would never play, a standard, full of longing. He's wearing a thin t-shirt, and even in the dark Wilson can see the outline of his spine. A few steps and he's there, touching House's back, running his hands across his shoulders, reaching out for the half-full glass of wine on top of the piano and stealing a taste.

House says nothing, and so it cannot be happening, because there is nothing on this earth that can keep House silent. Even the melody he had been humming is gone now, and they breathe in the quiet as the piano trails off, House's fingers long and pale, now resting motionless on the keys. Wilson straddles the piano bench next to him and sits, and House shifts too, away from the piano, away from any risk of eye contact. This avoidance, Wilson thinks, could be true.

It's midnight, though, and since this cannot, -cannot- be true, he takes the risk, wrapping his arm around House's chest and pulling him in close. He thinks if House were a girl he'd do something now like kiss his neck or whisper in his ear or one of those other things he read about in the magazines his first wife always left in the bathroom, but House isn't a girl, and even if he was he would probably not fall for any of that, so he just holds him, his right hand flat and possessive on House's chest.

He has never let House let him get this far before.

He doesn't know what he wants House to want now.

He wonders what House will do if he gets it.

It's midnight, and House's breathing has changed, and Wilson wonders. He lets his hand drift down, brushing the worn fabric and the warmth of House through it, and then he's sliding and reaching his hand into the loose fabric of the pajama pants. Absurdly, he hopes that his hand isn't too cold as he takes hold of House's cock, already half-hard. He starts with fingertips, featherlight teasing, then stronger motions, familiar and strange all at once.

(He thinks if this was a dream he'd manage to jerk himself off at the same time, maybe even in sync like his second wife was always going on about, not that he ever saw the point. As long as everyone got there, who cares when?)

He doesn't care about much now, though. House is thrusting into his hand, and Wilson's holding him close with his left arm, certain that House can feel how hard he is, but not caring. Quickly now, thumbing the head of House's cock, toying roughly with his nipples through the worn t-shirt, and House is gasping, head thrown back on Wilson's shoulder, coming hot and fast all over his hand.

It's midnight, and he's alone in the dark and the silence. He reaches for a tissue to clean himself, and waits in the chair for the morning. Tomorrow he'll have dark circles under his eyes, and House will make snide comments about him and the newly divorced clinic nurse. Tomorrow he'll listen to it all and wonder.


End file.
